A Poem For May

May

Rosebuds, foxgloves and columbines today.
White lilac blooms persist, huge, double, snowy,
fragrant, though the glorious one is over now,
the rich dark purple Roi Charles Treize.
With their improbable lush pink display,
tree peonies prolong exotic pomp
while their less showy cousin splits its plump
white dumpling buds. They were the deepest red
when they moved in but bled their crimson
through the years in tandem tears shed
as loving woman wept for him who planted
that red rose above it on the fence
which, opening out this morning as she sat
reliving memories, blessed her with its scent.

Dorothy Pope